Distant Blood (9 page)

“Where's Uncle Mutt?” I asked.

He waited until the batter swung and missed before he answered. “Off in the kitchen, helping the cook.” He giggled. “Yeah, he's probably helpin' her slice and dice and julienne-fry. Can't hardly lose no more fingers, can he?” Rufus was either well on his way to inebriation or fancied himself damn funny. His comment produced a gale of laughter, but only from him.

“And which way's the kitchen?”

He gestured with the beer can. “Go back through the entrance hall, the big dining room, then to your left. Kitchen's back there.”

I followed his directions, ambling through rooms full of antique furniture, all arranged with a careful eye to give the entire house the rough ambience of a hunting lodge. The dining room was large, as befitting houses of its era, and I gently pushed on the service door that led to the kitchen.

I saw them before they saw me—Uncle Mutt talking softly, his voice cajoling, his hands on the soft shoulders of a young woman who was stirring food in a pot. She leaned slightly back against him and laughed at his whisper.

“No, Emmett,” I heard her say clearly, her voice a sweet
bell. She could not have been over twenty-five. I could not see her face, but her hair was long and ebony, tied back in a ponytail.

He laughed quietly and whispered again, rubbing his palms against her smooth hips. I could imagine the heat of her body. She laughed, leaning her head back against his shoulder as he wrapped both arms around her.

I stepped back out of the kitchen, an intruder in a private moment, letting the door ease back into place. Uncle Mutt murmuring sweet nothings to a woman a third his age? No wonder this family was so god-awful tense. And I thought I knew, with a blush, exactly what his momentous announcement might be.

SUPPER WAS EXCRUCIATING.
Not that the food was bad; hardly so. The pork tenderloin was tender and delicately spiced, the green beans freshly steamed and brimming with flavor, the marinated carrots chilled and tangy, the salad crisp, the wines Texas-made, dry and flavorful.

But I expected a family dinner to be convivial, a chance to laugh and hear time-honored stories that are customarily retold at these gatherings. The web of love that meshes a clan together should shine at these moments, even when relatives sometimes don't always get along.

The reunions on my mother's side of the family were long, joined moments of happiness in my memory: good food, restless play with my cousins, jolting laughter from the adults. When I'd attended Poteet reunions, my cousins and I would often be convulsed in laughter, remembering some anecdote connected to Uncle Bid or Aunt Pearl or Cousin Maggie. The stories were never new, and therein lay their charm. You learn a lot from a family's laughter.

The Goertzes were not one for familial chortles. The clink of fork against plate remained the dominant noise. I wondered if my own presence caused this recalcitrance; after all, I was like some rare zoo specimen to these people, an actual love child.
Bastardis Goertzis
, a rare genus and species, I told myself, sure to be labeled and catalogued. This oddity had teeth, however. After seeing Uncle Mutt's tender embrace with his cook, I'd opted to produce the letters myself to the gathering. Sated with food and wine (as no one seemed to be picking at their dinner much—they
gobbled like wolves), my admirer might be off guard. After dinner, then, I resolved. I permitted myself a smile, which Aunt Lolly swooped on like an owl on a field mouse.

“Something funny, Jordan?” she purred, her fork idling in her salad. Her eyes fixed on me, bright and disturbing.

“No, not at all.” I smiled back. Bob Don glanced at me, so I broadened my grin. “I'm just happy to be here.” I took refuge in a fortifying sip of wine.

Lolly, sitting next to me, rubbed the back of my hand. “And we're all happy you're here, too, dear.” Her lips narrowed in a malicious grin. “Such a nice, successful boy. You may restore my faith in this particular generation of Goertzes. Deb and Aubrey have been disappointments, haven't you, sugars?”

I had no words to respond to her rotten prod at my cousins. She'd been downing red wine steadily—I wondered if she was a mean drunk. Aubrey and Deborah, sitting together on the other side of the long table, both glared at Lolly. Sass, like a tigress, leaped to her son's defense, claws bared for battle.

“Aunt Lolly, I hardly think it's fair to label Aubrey a failure. He's a published author—”

“That psychobabble claptrap?” Lolly snorted. The sweetness that had characterized her earlier ramblings was gone, replaced by sourness. “The only amazing thing is that people lay down money to be analyzed from a page. Especially by someone who never attended medical school. Aubrey, dear, don't get me wrong, we're all tickled you got your cute little book published, but don't you think it's time you got involved in Uncle Mutt's business?”

“Leave the boy alone, Lolly,” Mutt grunted, digging into his tenderloin. Lolly apparently was immune to the power of Mutt's charisma. I wondered how she could dismiss Aubrey's advice as psychobabble when she thought her dog was her husband reborn. I didn't know Aubrey had penned a book, and searched my memory for his name; I wondered if we had his text at the library. I opened my mouth to ask him the title, but didn't get a chance.

“I'm not really interested in investment portfolios, Aunt
Lolly,” Aubrey said. I sat, waiting for the next platitude, but he stared down at his plate, prodding a green bean with intense concentration. I suspected this was an old battle.

Aunt Lolly tired of him and moved on to her next subject. “Candace, dear, do you know any eligible bachelors? We're waiting still on Deborah dear here to settle down and become an honest woman.”

Why is Lolly so bitter? I wondered. Tired of being Jake's caretaker? And why don't they just hire a nurse for him instead? Why put the burden on Lolly?

Candace attempted a salvage. “Aunt Lolly, I'm sure a woman as pretty and smart as Deborah can find her own dates.”

Deborah flashed a brief smile at Candace and then turned her grin toward Lolly. “Lolly—remind me, when was your last date? Was that when the astronauts returned from the moon? Or when Columbus sailed by?”

“Ladies,” Uncle Mutt rumbled, “let's be nice.”

Lolly smirked at her niece. “You have to understand, Jordan, I raised Deborah after her father murdered her mother and then killed himself. She and I just love each other to pieces. We like to tease. Don't pay her any heed.” She sipped at her Cabernet—she was the only one who'd opted for red wine with dinner—and then ran a speck of tongue along her thin lips.

After her father murdered her mother?
No wonder Bob Don hadn't offered much family history. I swallowed the lump of meat in my mouth and glanced around the table. Deborah quivered with suppressed anger, staring at the remains of her dinner. She did not speak. Bob Don stared at Lolly with smoldering fury.

“Leave my brother's name out of this, Aunt Lolly,” he said. His own brother was a killer? I felt dizzy. Candace bit her lip and I saw her touch Gretchen's shoulder in support. Gretchen flinched, as if burned by her touch.

“Lolly, what's gotten into you? That's enough.” Uncle Mutt tapped his finger against the linen, scowling at his sister. Lolly didn't even favor him with a glance—she seemed determined to make dinner a wicked affair.

Deborah stared into her wineglass for a long, thoughtful moment, then glanced back at me. I felt the tension rise a pitch in the room, as though an untalented violinist had taken bow to string.

“Leave Deborah alone.” Sass decided to run her own brand of interference. She pushed her plate away from her and downed a heavy gulp of Scotch—not her first of the evening. “Watch what you say, Lolly, or Aubrey will make you the most interesting chapter in his new book.”

“New book?” Lolly asked, her voice momentarily dulled. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw both Uncle Mutt and my cousin Tom stiffen. Philip studied his plate as though the secrets of the ancients lay exposed there.

Aubrey looked stricken and he wadded his napkin into a ball, his fingers making quick, explosive jerks of anger. He attempted a vague smile. “It's just a follow-up to my earlier book, slightly broader in scope.”

He sounded like a blurb from the book catalogues I received at the library. Practiced patter, perhaps not too dissimilar to the snippets of advice he continually offered.

“Slightly broader, oh yes,” Sass continued, her voice rising, the
s
in her assertion a long hiss. “Broad as a barn. It's all about families, won't that make it ever so much fun? And guess which family he's going to scribble about?”

“I cannot imagine our family,” Lolly bristled, “offers much grist for Aubrey's mill. We are eminently normal, aren't we, Mutt? Always have been, always will be.” She seemed amused; I didn' t get the joke.

Uncle Mutt made a huffing sound. “Goddamn it, Aubrey, why don't you turn your spotlight on someone else?”

“Mom's mistaken. I'm not writing about this family in particular,” Aubrey retorted. “I'm not writing a gothic, for God's sake.” No one laughed. Outside, I could hear the cawing of the gulls as they ferreted the surf for their evening meal.

“Hah.” Sass laughed. “Grist for the mill, that's right, Aunt Lolly. We'll see.” She poked at Aubrey with a brightly taloned finger. “Can I suggest some chapter headings, baby?”

“I think you've had quite enough Scotch for tonight, Mom.” Aubrey's voice cooled. “Maybe you should call it a night.”

“Yes, Sass,” Gretchen chimed in. I couldn't miss the pain coloring her voice. Her buddy and idol was drunk and behaving badly. I wondered if Sass was an uncomfortable mirror for Gretchen.

Sass carefully set her glass down on the spotless white tablecloth and refilled it with a defiant splash. “Oh, not yet. You'll get a special chapter now, Gretchen. The recovered drunk. We're all so proud of you.”

“You're the one acting like you should be in a twelve-step program,” Tom shot bitterly from the end of the table. “What the hell's gotten into you?”

“Oh, I just am so proud of my boy. I want you all to know what a big success his next book is going to be, isn't it, sweetheart? Write a really big one and you'll hardly need your mom anymore, isn't that right?”

Aubrey's face tensed in anger, his brow furrowing hard. “Mom, don't—”

“Yes, Gretchen shall have her own chapter, unless she falls off the wagon, in which case she'll get two. And of course Philip and Tom each merit a chapter for a thorough discussion of just how different twins can be. Or are they?” The twins reacted differently: Philip with an indulgent smile and Tom with a frosty stare.

“Let's not forget Uncle Jake. How about a chapter on old farts who don't do a single kind thing in their lives?”

“Write about yourself, then, Miss Sass,” Uncle Jake retorted, unshaken by Sass's swipe.

I felt an acrid taste creep into my mouth. Something was terribly wrong here. This wasn't teasing, either from Lolly or Sass. This was verbal flogging, pure and simple. And the rest of them appeared to endure the whip. I couldn't see for the life of me why.

Perhaps Sass saw the revulsion on my face. “Bob Don and Jordan certainly rate a discussion, don't you think, dear? The long-suffering father and the unsuspecting son. It's so charming. Perhaps they can join you on
Oprah
when
you tour for the book. Brothers and bastards, that makes for a good episode.” She laughed at her own joke. “Brothers. Rich, isn't it, Bob Don?”

“Stop it.” Lolly sipped at her red wine again. “You're terrible. You're making me feel ill with all these histrionics.”

“Are you quite done, Cecilia?” Bob Don asked, his voice low and implacable. “Just hush now, you're drunk and you're embarrassing yourself terribly. You and Aunt Lolly both should be ashamed of how you've acted this evening.”

I glanced down at Uncle Mutt; after all, he did seem to be the family patriarch and I expected a thundering fist on the table to demand dignity and decency at dinner. He sat back, rubbing one cheek with his disfigured hand. He didn't seem inclined to stop Sass's rave; I wasn't even sure he was listening to her; he seemed lost in his own world of thought. I'd abandoned all plans to produce the hate mail; the time was inopportune, and the tension in the air already smothering.

At least one of us tired of the tirades. Deborah dabbed at her lips with her napkin, murmured “Excuse me,” and stood. Sass watched her and I saw her face darken in regret. “Deb, hon, I'm sorry—” Sass began, then her voice faltered.

Deborah had not taken three steps toward the door when Lolly's words struck like a child's stone, cruelly thrown.

“And of course, we can't forget our darling Deborah. While you're compiling chapters, Sass, you should add a whole book of them for Deb. There's simply so much ground to cover with her. Let's see, Aubrey could talk about the family ingrate, or the family basket case, or the family embarrassment—or the family slut.” And for one brief second Lolly's eyes lit on Gretchen. I saw her smile crookedly for a moment, then she returned her gaze to Deborah. My cousin stood by the door, her fingers trembling in anger on the knob. Her dark eyes glowed with pure hate.